


Februwhump Prompt: Starvation/Food Hoarding

by AnaliseGrey



Series: Februwhump Prompts 2019 [8]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Februwhump, Food Issues, Gen, Molly is mentioned but doesn't say much, Starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 03:06:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17952464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaliseGrey/pseuds/AnaliseGrey
Summary: Hunger isn’t new to Caleb.





	Februwhump Prompt: Starvation/Food Hoarding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mikkeneko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikkeneko/gifts).



Hunger isn’t new to Caleb.

As a child, even during the good months, there’s barely enough to go around. His father was a soldier once, when Caleb was very small, but an injury had sent him home with a medical discharge. He knows enough about armor and leatherwork to do basic mending, which helps bring in some coin, but it’s never quite enough. His mother’s a weaver, her fabrics beautiful and sturdy; he spends many happy years of his childhood with his hands stained colors from the dyeing process, and while the work his parents do keeps food on the table most of the year, winters are always difficult. There’s barely enough to keep them going, and there’s certainly never enough to put something aside.

When he’s older, Trent withholds food to drive home lessons. The hunger Caleb feels is a strong reminder, a punctuation to whatever it is that Trent wants him to learn; and Caleb _wants_ to learn, so badly, anything that Master Ikithon will deign to teach him.  It barely occurs to him to try stealing food from the kitchen, but once it does, he knows without a doubt that he’d never dare. He already knows the penalties for disappointing Ikithon. He can’t begin to imagine what would happen if he was caught stealing. A day or two of missed meals and a lesson learned are worth it. They _must_ be. If it weren’t important, if it weren’t _necessary_ , Ikithon wouldn’t do it, Caleb is certain.

Caleb is certain of a lot of things.

After- after the burning, after the asylum- he’s hungrier than he’s ever been. When he was young, there might have been very little, but there was always _something_ to take the edge off, to help them last until the next day. Now, there’s nothing. Days at a time of nothing but water, of trying to eat grass, roots, and berries; he accidentally makes himself sick a few times until he learns better what’s safe to eat. He steals in small towns when he can and he’s caught more than once- beaten, whipped, driven out; it’s a miracle that he escapes it all with his hands still attached. He doesn’t know anymore what it is _not_ to be hungry. The hunger pangs are constant; he’s learned to ignore all but the strongest, the ones that double him over, his vision wavering as he continues on. He knows he’s walking a knife’s edge, that there’s very little between him and death at any moment, and he’s often tempted when he lays down at night to just stay there, to let nature take its course and end him.

He hasn’t earned that yet, though. He hasn’t earned the right to rest, to lay down and die. So each morning he gets up, and carries on.

It’s one of his attempts at stealing from a baker in a small hamlet that gets him thrown in jail. He’s so hungry he’s not thinking straight, can’t think past the overwhelming scent of fresh bread and yeast that floats out the open back door of the small bakery. He hasn’t been able to cast anything in weeks, and when the baker catches him, Caleb’s mind is so sluggish he can’t comprehend what’s happening until the crownsguard are clapping him in irons and dragging him away.

They throw him in a cell, and his first thought is that if he’s in jail, maybe they’ll feed him. He wonders why he didn’t think of it sooner. They’ve left the irons on his wrists for the time being, and he’s weak enough that it’s difficult to move with them on. He decides the floor is fine, and is drifting off to sleep when there’s a shuffle of movement in the corner. He briefly thinks it’s a rat, wonders whether or not he can catch and eat it, but that illusion is shattered when it speaks.

“You’re not dead, are you?”

He startles, chains rattling, and the sudden movement makes him dizzy. “N-no, I am not dead.”

“Huh. Good, I guess.” The figure moves again, and the person is quite a bit smaller than he’s expecting. That’s nothing though compared to the surprise when he takes in the green skin, long, mobile ears, bright yellow eyes.

“ _Oh_.”

Neither of them move for a moment, but then the tension breaks and the girl, the goblin, looks him over. “You’re not going to eat me, are you?”

“ _Was_ \- no, no of course not.”

She still looks wary, eyes narrowed, shoulders hunched in, but she gives a nod and skitters back to her corner.

Not much changes over the next few days. They stay each on their own side of the cell other than meal time. Twice a day, a guard brings two bowls filled with...well Caleb isn’t quite sure _what_ it is, but he’s not going to be picky. There’s a lump of mostly stale bread with each bowl, and a water skin they have to put through the bars to be refilled at mealtimes. He eats everything they give him, and while it’s not great- not even _good_ , really, only mostly edible- he’s been hungry too often and for too long to give even half a shit when the food is coming regularly.

Until it isn’t.

He doesn’t know what he does to anger the guards, what imagined slight or offense he commits, but the end result is the same. When they come to feed the prisoners that morning, they bring food for the girl- _Nott_ , he’s since learned, is her name- but not for him. The guard switches out the water skin, but only pushes one bowl and lump of bread through the small opening at the bottom of the bars. “It’s for her. You touch it, and we’ll break your hands.”

He nods, resigned, and stays where he is against the wall as Nott moves forward to collect her breakfast. She keeps eyeing him guiltily, but he smiles at her, nods, gesturing to her meal. “Go ahead, it’s alright.” He’s not going to hold the guard’s actions against her, but that doesn’t mean he has to watch. He turns over on his side to face the wall and closes his eyes, doing his best to ignore the sounds of her eating.

It continues the next few days, and he wishes he wasn’t as well-attuned to time as he is. The clock in his head is constantly running, keeping him informed exactly how long it’s been since he’s last eaten. By the fourth day he’s spending his time laying down with his back to the wall, too tired and worn to sit for long. He’s thankful for the water Nott carries over to him, but he knows if this keeps up, if they keep refusing to feed him, he isn’t going to last much longer. He’d been dangerously thin when he was brought in, and had barely gained any ground from regular meals, but any progress made has been quickly lost. He’s cold all the time, the hunger pangs constant again. Maybe it’s better this way, all things considered.

“Hey.”

Caleb hums to indicate he’s listening, but otherwise doesn’t respond.

“Caleb, open your eyes. Please?”

Nott sounds scared, which is enough of a reason for him to not only open his eyes, but to try to sit up as well. His head spins, and he feels as if he’ll fall off the floor, but he manages it, and even finds a smile for her. “Yes, Nott?”

She looks nervous, moving her weight from foot to foot, her hands behind her back, and after another moment she shoots her right hand out, dropping something in his lap before darting away again. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner but I thought they’d start feeding you againbutIdon’twantyoutodie.” The last few words are spoken very quickly and it takes his mind time to catch up to what she said. He looks down and in his lap is a lump of bread, stale as a rock, and maybe a little green on one edge, but definitely bread. He doesn’t realize he’s staring at it until Nott makes a noise on the other side of the cell. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“No, I just-” Caleb looks at the bread again and picks it up. “This is for me?”

“Yes.” Nott is twisting her fingers together, the green skin on her hands going pale as she frets. “I try to keep some stuff back, you know, just in case, but I noticed you _don’t_ \- not that I’m judging you or anything!- and well, I don’t want you to _die_. So...yeah, it’s for you.”

A tangle of emotions rise up in Caleb’s chest, climbing to his throat, choking him, but he’s unprepared to deal with most of them, so he settles on thankful and picks up the bread, nodding his thanks to Nott. He wants to devour it, but the combination of it being practically hardtack by now and him knowing better has him going slowly, gnawing on it a bit at a time. When he’s done, he feels a little better, but he’s a long way from alright.

When they start feeding him again the next day, Nott teaches him how to put some away- what won’t spoil as quickly, how to tell when to eat something before it _does_ spoil, when to swap it out for something new. Caleb’s always pleased at the prospect of learning, and this is no different.

By the time they escape, it’s already habit to always have something tucked away, just in case. Nott saved him in the jail, and he will make sure there is always something for her. He doesn’t tell this to Nott, of course, he knows she wouldn’t like it, but if there’s nothing else good that can be said about him, at least there’s this- he won’t let her starve if he can in anyway prevent it.

He doesn’t keep all his stash in one place, that feels dangerous in a way he has trouble explaining to himself. So he splits it between a few packets- a couple dried winter apples in one of his coat pockets near the small pot where he keeps his molasses, a wrapped bundle of hard cheese and bread in his pack, pieces of jerky in a small leather pouch he wears on a leather string around his neck, plus a few other things here and there. He has a detailed mental list of when everything is obtained, when they will be in danger of going bad, when to switch them out. When he knows something is on the verge, he gives it to Nott, and replaces it. Nothing goes to waste, Nott eats consistently, and there is protection against the harder days. It’s a very neat and tidy system, and he likes it. It soothes his nerves to know the reserves are there, that there’s a plan, even if he’s the only one who knows it.

“Which spell do you use this for, Caleb?”

Caleb looks up from what he’s doing to see Jester peering over his shoulder. He’d gone to the market that morning, replacing some of the cheese he’d given Nott the day before, and is wrapping it up in an oiled cloth for safekeeping before packing it away again. They’re heading into the foothills of the Ashkeepers soon, and even though he knows Fjord and Beau are off buying supplies this very moment, including rations, it doesn’t feel adequate; it doesn’t feel like enough.

It never feels like enough.

“This is not for a spell, Jester.”

“Oh! Do you just like having snacks? I like having snacks, too, though this town doesn’t have very good pastries, not like back home. They don’t put enough cinnamon into anything for it to taste right, you know?”

“I- not quite, no, Jester. This is for just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

When he looks up her expression is open, questioning, cheerful but earnest, and it occurs to him that for all she tries to project a certain worldliness, she hasn’t been out in the world long in the grand scheme of things.

“Just- just in case.”

He can see she still doesn’t get it, that she’s about to press, and he doesn’t know what he'll say to her.

“Jester, dear, can you come here?”

“Sure, Molly! Just a second!” Jester turns back to Caleb and pats him on the arm. “You have fun with your not-snacks!”

As she flounces off, Caleb looks up and catches Molly’s eye, and Molly smiles at him, kind and understanding.

He finishes packing the food away, feeling more settled knowing it’s there and ready if it’s needed. He sits under a nearby tree, and for a while he’s able to sit and read peacefully, enjoying the light breeze that rustles the leaves above him, letting in dappled sunlight.

“Caleb?”

He looks up from his book and there’s Jester again, though looking subdued compared to her earlier exuberance.

“Yes?”

“Can I talk to you?”

He smiles up at her. “You are talking to me right now, blueberry.”

“Yes, I know, but-” She bounces on her toes, her tail held in a gentle curve behind her. “Molly told me what the food was for.”

“Oh.” Caleb blinks. He’d figured Molly was pulling her away to distract her. It didn’t occur to him that Molly would explain anything. “And what did he tell you?”

Jester takes a step closer and sits facing him, arranging her skirts under herself and her hands in her lap before answering. “He said that sometimes when people haven’t had enough to eat in the past, that they will keep food nearby, like a very small dragon, to feel safer.”

“That is-” he considers, stumbling a moment over the comparison to a dragon. “-not entirely inaccurate.”

“Oh, Caleb.” The sudden change in her tone catches his attention, and he’s dismayed to see she looks almost unbearably sad.

“Jester, are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine, Caleb, I’m just sorry that happened to you, though.”

“Oh, no, it’s-” He can’t quite bring himself to say it’s fine, when they both know that’s not true. If it were, he wouldn’t feel compelled to stash food away separate from the party’s ration supply.

“This is like the money thing, isn’t it?”

“ _Ja_ , it is very much like the money thing.”

She scoots over to him, settling her back against the tree, near him, but not too close. “I know that sometimes there are things I don’t know. Experiences I don’t have that you all do, and that means that sometimes I say stupid things.”

He hesitates a moment before reaching over to pat her shoulder. “Not stupid, Jester, just...uninformed. And I am glad you do not have this experience. It is not one I’d wish on you. There are far more pleasant ones to have.”

She turns, looking up at him with a small smile. “I know. But I also want to know you better, all of you. I keep hurting you without meaning to, and I don’t want to.”

“ _Ja_ , well.” Caleb pulls his hand back and glances at her. “I think it is commendable that you are so invested in learning about us. And between you and me,” he leans in close, and when she leans in as well, he gently bops her on the nose with a finger. “I think you are already doing a good job.”

She blinks in surprise, wrinkling her nose, then breaks into a bright smile. “Well of _course_ I am, Caleb, _obviously_.”

They don’t speak any more about it that day, and she never so much as teases him about it, but Caleb starts finding carefully wrapped pastries tucked into his things when he least expects it with notes on torn-off pieces of paper that say, ‘compliments of the Traveler’, usually accompanied by a small doodle. The pastries don’t really work for the little food bundles he keeps- they’ll go bad much too quickly for that- but he appreciates the thought and care that go into them all the same.

**Author's Note:**

>  _was_ \- what
> 
> Mikkeneko spawned this from a comment on [Nova](http://archiveofourown.org/works/17301449) and my brain sort of flew into action, so...thanks?
> 
> If you feel like yelling about these guys, asking a question, or just want to say hi, come find me on tumblr at [Analisegrey](http://analisegrey.tumblr.com/) or on twitter at the same handle!


End file.
